


Isaac

by ziyazu



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Sex Explorations, Blowjobs, Bottom!Stiles, Forest Sex, Frottage, M/M, Secret Relationship, Werewolf Kinks, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 18:58:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziyazu/pseuds/ziyazu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles likes f***ing around with Isaac. He likes how easy it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Isaac

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure how this happened, but I'm glad it did.

Stiles likes fucking around with Isaac. He likes how easy it is.

No pretense, no fumbling over feelings or boundaries. Just the swift tug of want in his belly when he sees Isaac bite his lip to hide a grin. Just the ready smirk he offers when blue eyes glance towards him and then, too quickly, away. Just rushed zippers and heavy breathing and teeth and tongues and hard hands on hot skin. It's easy, and _fuck_ is it fun.

He likes stumbling from lacrosse practice, hair wet from the showers, muscles aching, straight into the Jeep, Isaac's hand sliding up his thigh under his shorts. He likes rough, biting kisses, stolen in Scott's hallway, guilty and gleeful. He likes the curl of Isaac's hair between his fingers as Isaac's hands spread out across his hips, pinning him to a tree, and he likes the moonlight shading across that perfect fucking face, eyes trained on his, tongue curling, lips sliding.

Yeah, Stiles likes fucking around with Isaac a lot.

He's never been sure what it was that set him off, not really. Isaac is pretty, _so_ pretty, but then so are lots of other people they know. Maybe it was just his eyes, those lashes somehow laced with dirty meaning, splayed across his cheekbones in the ice water. Maybe it was the looks Isaac gave him when they were all about to die, silent but loud, too clear to miss. Isaac never bothers to keep his large eyes hooded anymore, has lost his old inclination to keep his face closed and shuttered. He's so open now, so fresh and powerful, and he doesn't hide it. Stiles only had to meet his gaze once or twice to want him. It only took another near-death experience or four before he got that Isaac wanted him back.

To be honest, though, he'd known it for weeks before either of them did anything. He just didn't have the balls, he thinks. After everything that's happened to them all, who would?

Isaac. Isaac would.

He remembers it probably too well, but then, it was so easy too. Isaac sliding up next to him in the lunchline, casually resting a hand on his hip. A warm thumb slipping beneath his shirt to press solidly into soft skin, to trace a slow line skidding down along the edge of his ribcage.  His voice had been low, barely even a murmur (“ _We could, you know_ ,") and then he was gone.

Stiles didn't have to ask what they could. He didn't even have to ask when, or where. He just waited a beat, turned on the spot, and abandoned his lunch tray half-filled on the nearest table.

In the locker room he’d closed the door behind him, slid his backpack off his shoulders, and smiled. That was it. His back hit the lockers and Isaac pressed along his front, mouth hungry and hurried, and they've never stopped since.

They're not dating.

Stiles couldn't give a fuck about romance, and Isaac doesn't care. Besides, no one else knows, not even Scott. Turns out when you’re constantly at risk of dying horribly, no one checks up too closely on who sneaks off with who during their few moments of normality. Stiles is grateful for this. He doesn't need werewolf senses to tell him that this isn't love or anything remotely like it – it’s  hormones and convenience along with a general affable friendliness and an awareness of joint danger in the weird crazy world they live in – and fuck if he's going to analyze it with anyone who might talk him out of it.

He likes being a horny asshole with Isaac. He likes Isaac being a horny asshole with him. It works for them.

Isaac being a werewolf really works for them, actually, especially when they finally get tired of blowing each other and jerking each other off and squirming naked together, frantic for friction, and decide to brave the frankly horrifying minefield that is anal sex. And Jesus, if Stiles had known how awkward that first experience was going to be, he might have opted to continue to ignore his bisexuality for many more years.

As it is, stilted too-personal questions, hesitant hands, and premature everything make for a weird, painful, and eventually abortive first attempt. After a week of silence and averted eyes, Stiles is almost sure that's it for them, but then Isaac slips something in his pocket, brushing by without eye contact or his usual hidden grope, as if he's too nervous to even flirt.

In the privacy of a bathroom stall, Stiles palms the bottle, eyes the label, Googles the brand, and his eyes widen at the price... and then at the reviews. Okay. Shitty last-minute supermarket lube this is not. This could work. This could work WELL.

He's flattered, really, at the lengths Isaac went to, and he doesn't mind in the least later that night when his rough breaths hurt his lungs, rip at his throat, torn out of him by the speed, the utter AWESOME that is prostate stimulation and a partner who has clearly been doing some fucking _research_ and knew exactly what the fuck was up this time.

He closes his eyes, senses whirling from the force of the superhuman strength driving their insane rhythm, and groans as his stomach curls with a staggering punch and then fucking jets out his cock. Isaac never falters even as he's hit in the chin, raising and lowering him again and again, faster and faster, the sound of their skin meeting echoing in the chill air of the forest.

He hadn't objected to the location when they'd met, and now he can tell from Isaac's low, chesty growls and the gold glowing through the human blue of his eyes that he clearly has a werewolfy sort of in-the-woods kink. As Stiles gasps, sparks still lancing through him, mess between them fresh and hot and sticky, he has no problem being where no one will find them, even if it does mean a certain amount of outdoorsy discomfort.

The rock under his left knee is going to leave one hell of a bruise come tomorrow, and there’s dirt in places he never knew existed before tonight, but fuck it: he's taking werewolf dick up the ass for his first time, and it's fucking glorious. Who gives a shit where they are?

Moments later, Isaac latches onto his throat, fangs only just held in check, and his orgasm thunders through him, claws sharp against Stiles’ skin where he grips his ribs. Stiles stares dizzily at the stars gleaming up beyond the treetops and digs his nails in right back, air crisp and cool on his shoulders.

Nope. The forest is not a problem _at all_.

Of course, if he'd known how regular a thing this was going to be, Stiles would have insisted on a nicer clearing. One with a carpet of moss, maybe, or a fucking stream to wash off in, after. Or a heated one, considering that it very nearly fucking _winter_ now.

As it is, three weeks later, lying naked side by side and covered in their joint come, breathing hard and trying to ignoring the growing bite of the cold for a few more minutes, Stiles takes it upon himself to suggest that they at least begin stashing some fucking blankets here or something, because Jesus, it is COLD.

Isaac laughs and rolls onto him, kissing him messily and running a sloppy hand through the cooling slickness of Stiles' chest before dropping back down onto his back, fingers in his mouth.

"Yeah, okay."

"We could store them in a tree. In, like, a trash bag. It's perfect. And then I won't get sticks up my ass."

Isaac hums thoughtfully around his thumb. "I thought you liked things up your ass."

"Your dick, your fingers, and your tongue, yes. Trees? Fuck no."

Isaac laughs again, and turns over on his side, one arm holding Stiles down while he looms over him, contemplating Stiles' excellent 'just-fucked' face. Stiles lazily scratches at his neck and yawns, letting Isaac nuzzle him and lick at him some more. It's a werewolf thing, whatever. He's not prepared for the nipple bite, though, and he jerks, shouting, before swatting at Isaac's head as hard as he can. Isaac avoids him easily and smirks, eyes flashing gold again with humour.

"You're just mad that my come tastes better than yours."

Stiles squawks, angrily. "AS FUCKING IF, WOLFBOY. At least mine is in normal volumes instead of quantities they might find useful at SeaWorld – _to fill the whale tanks_. I will NEVER forget that first blowjob, dickhead. _You should have_ _warned me_." 

Isaac drops into peals of giggles and then stutters out "Snowballing!" before losing it so hard he has to roll over and over and ends up half in a bush.

Stiles boosts himself up on his elbows, shivering quite a lot now that his personal heater is gone, and shoots him a suspicious glare.

"You need to stop Googling kinky gay sex acts, dude. I may be your open-minded experimental high school fuck, but I am still suffering from an unfortunate case of _seventeen and still getting used to this shit_. I don't even know what you just tried a few minutes ago. I mean, we're totally doing it again, but what websites are you ON?"

Isaac titters from his position in the bush, and Stiles shakes his head and goes to find his pants.

Unbelievable.

(They try snowballing. Stiles throws up on a nearby stump, and Isaac grumpily agrees to never speak of it again.)


End file.
